End of Eternity 3 Page 6

  I could get him disbarred for this. I could get him put in prison. I could ruin his life.

  Right? Hopefully.

  A terrifying thought suddenly strikes me with fear. I wonder if the quality of the recording will be clear enough to depict what is happening? Will it sound too muffled through the layers of fabric of my robe?

  “Brad, stop,” I say again, through gritted teeth. My voice is hoarse, and I realize I need to speak up to be recorded clearly. “Please stop! It fucking hurts.”

  “I can’t,” he tells me, between grunts. “God, Carmen, you feel so good. I’m so close.”

  And then it’s over. Brad is pulling away from me and I feel the cold air on my exposed skin. I sink to my knees in front of the desk, but not before grabbing my robe and hugging it tightly against my chest. I gasp for breath, and find myself somehow wheezing, as though I had been drowning moments before. My only comfort is the knowledge that my phone is nestled safely somewhere in the bundle of fabric I am holding, and it contains the precious recording. Tears of happiness spring to my eyes, mixing with the tears of pain. This is good, right? This is a start? I finally have something against him. I finally have some proof of some little wrongdoing. It’s not everything, but it will go a long way toward moving things in the right direction.

  Brad crouches down to my side, and his touch is suddenly tender again. “I’m sorry I was so rough with you, Carmen. I don’t know what got into me. Just a hormone rush from winning the case or something.”

  Hormones. My drugs are supposed to mess with his hormones so much that his body fails in several ways. He shouldn’t have been able to do this to me at all. Did Owen get me bad drugs? Have I not been using enough? Playing nice for weeks and weeks, being kind to this bastard; was it all for nothing?

  “You liked it though, didn’t you?” he asks as he wraps an arm around my shoulders to hold me. “I could tell you were enjoying it from the way your body moved—even if you were hesitant at first.”

  Something in me snaps. I stare at him in utter speechlessness. “Hesitant?! Enjoyed it? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “You… you mean you didn’t?” he asks in confusion.

  I close my eyes in disbelief, clutching my robe against my chest for dear life. Is this really happening? “Just go. Please. Leave my home. I can’t be around you right now.”

  “Carmen, my god. Did I really hurt you that much? I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…”

  “Just go!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

  He looks at me in shock, as though he can’t fathom why I’m upset. He touches my arm gently, with fear and concern in his face. He looks like a child who has just been yelled at for doing something he doesn’t understand. It breaks my heart a little, because I know he was so happy about winning his court case a few moments before. I don’t know how I can even feel remorse for hurting him, when I’ve been spending every waking moment trying to bring retribution down upon him.

  “Carmen,” he says quietly, taking my face into his hands. “I love you. You know that right? I’m not perfect, but I love you with everything I am.”

  It sounds like something my husband would say.

  Pushing him away with a sob, I bury my face into my robe. “Get the fuck out of my house, Brad. Get the fuck out, and don’t you dare come back.”

  I crouch under the desk, trembling and crying as Brad runs his hand up and down my back in a soothing manner. Finally, he decides to listen to me and depart. He does so hesitantly, like he is reluctant to leave my side. Does he really care about me? How can I even wonder that after this? Can I possibly be feeling compassion for him? God, this is so fucked up.

  After I hear my front door close and his car start, I expect to feel a sense of relief. I expect that I will jump into action as if nothing has happened and check my phone for the recording that has the power to put this man away behind bars. I expect that I will do a happy dance as I immediately turn on my computer to back up the precious recording. I could send it to Owen and Lauren just in case something happens to me or any of my equipment before I can notify the proper authorities. I expect that I will be strong enough to not be affected by this, because it’s all just a game.

  I’ve just been acting.

  This wasn’t me actually getting raped. This was just me playing a part, and letting it happen so I could record it. I am sure that I could have stopped it if I really wanted to.

  Right?

  I let out a sorrowful moan as I mash my face against the legs of Dad’s mahogany desk, curling my body up into a little ball. I clench my hands into fists as I hold the fabric of the robe, trying to make myself get it together and get off the ground.

  I was in complete control the whole time. Right?

  Everything went according to plan. Right?

  Right.

  I sit there for what must be an hour, staring at the wood patterns blankly. I don’t know why this little event has caused me to be so immobilized. It’s nothing special, is it? It’s just the normal complications of being a woman in this world. Nothing extraordinary; just an average day. I need to force myself to get off the fucking ground. I need to push this out of my mind and get back to business. This wasn’t some great, life-changing event.

  I am not my sister.

  After everything I’ve been through? This shouldn’t even bother me. It’s completely and utterly insignificant. Losing Grayson? That was rough. Losing my baby? That was devastating.

  This is just a minor blip on the scale of ultimate badness, from mildly annoying to epic disaster.

  So why does it hurt so much? I hear my phone make a little noise, but it sounds far away. I figure it might be a text message from Owen. I want to check it, but I can’t seem to make myself move. I remain statue-still for a few minutes until my phone beeps again in reminder.

  What if it could be Helen? Dad said she’s in town. It would be nice to see her again. And after going through something like this… it is a big reminder of the fact that I should try to be there for my sister. In some ways, she’s far stronger and smarter than I will ever be. But in some critical ways—like in this way—she’s not. She never was.

  My poor, innocent, baby sister. If only I could have been better to her.

  This is the thought that makes me grasp my father’s desk and drag myself to my feet. Holding the robe with one hand, I move around the desk to sit in the chair, and I try to maintain a strong, upright posture. I open up my laptop before beginning to search the robe for my pockets. Finally, I find my phone, and I take a deep breath.

  Am I ready to listen to this recording? I guess it’s as good a time as any. To be honest, I already find myself being fuzzy on the details of what just happened, and I think that listening to the recording will feel like listening to someone else’s situation. I bite my lip gently. I feel like I’ve just pulled a treasure chest out of the ocean, and I’m about to open it up to see what’s inside.

  Pressing my thumb down on the center button, I try to navigate to the recordings on my phone.

  The screen is black.

  My eyebrows immediately tense in concern, and I jab my finger down onto the center button over and over, praying that my phone will light up. Heat and fear spreads through my chest.

  My phone is dead. The beeps I heard might have been indicating low battery…

  Oh my god.

  What if the events that just occurred in this room were not recorded? I quickly scramble to plug my phone into the charger on my laptop, and press my hands together in prayer, begging the universe not to screw me over. Haven’t I been screwed over enough lately? Haven’t I been screwed over enough tonight? When the little symbol finally pops up to indicate that my phone is restarting, I hold my breath.

  As quickly as humanly possible, I navigate to the recordings.

  I jab the first one and listen to it.

  October 30th, 2013. Grocery list: Milk, eggs, salad. Don’t forget to buy Halloween candy…

  Oh my god. That’
s the last recording.

  My phone died and wiped the recording.

  I just let myself get raped for no reason. For nothing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  Shooting up to my feet, I throw my phone across the room with every ounce of my pent up strength and anger. It smashes into smithereens on the wall.

  I release a bloodcurdling scream.

  Chapter Nine

  As I sit in a corner of the library and stare at the broken pieces of my phone, it occurs to me that if I hadn’t smashed it, maybe the recording could have been retrieved. It occurs to me that if I hadn’t sat there for an hour, wallowing in self-pity after the event, maybe my phone’s battery wouldn’t have died and I could have saved the recording from being deleted in the first place. So many dozens of things occur to me, but the main revelation I have is that I’m a total fool.

  I know that my father will be home soon, and I don’t want him to see me like this. With mascara staining my cheeks and blood on my thighs. I just can’t seem to make myself start moving. My fingers reach out shakily to touch the broken pieces of my phone. I had so many notes on that little machine. I wonder if everything is gone? If I hadn’t acted so rashly, I could have called Owen right now. The sound of his voice might help soothe my mind a little, and pull me out of this state. I still haven’t gotten a chance to read his message on my laptop.

  Drawing a ragged breath, I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my head on my knees. This has just been a really bad day.

  The sound of the front door opening makes me jump a little, and I lift my forehead a few inches. Is it Brad? Is he coming back to finish what he started and axe-murder me? Because that would just be peachy. It would be the cherry on top of my ice-cream sundae.

  I hear multiple voices filtering through to the office, and my fuzzy mind struggles to recognize them. Did my father bring home co-workers from the conference? I am afraid and ashamed to be discovered like this, but I don’t know what else I can do other than sit here.

  Then, I hear a particular voice that makes my heart leap into my throat. A female voice. My sister.

  Tears slip from my eyes, because I really don’t want her to see me like this. At the same time, she is the only one who could possibly understand, and I crave her company. When the voices get louder, I recognize the cheerful lilt of Owen’s voice, followed by a round of harmonic laughter from the group.

  If I just hold my breath and remain very still, maybe they won’t notice me here. Maybe they’ll move into the family room or the kitchen, and I can avoid having to explain all this.

  But I don’t want to be alone anymore.

  “Helen,” I whisper softly, in a tone that should be reserved for a secret prayer to my fairy godmother. My voice is hoarse and strained from screaming, but I know that if anyone stands a chance at hearing me through walls, and from dozens of feet away, it’s my blind little sister with her superhuman hearing. “Hellie,” I murmur again, forcing the words out of my sore throat like a cannonball through its barrel. “Please…”

  This is all that I have the energy for as I let my head hang down against my knees. I don’t know if it is remotely possible that she managed to hear me over the talking and laughing of the men, but I almost hope that she didn’t. I don’t want to be the one to jog her memory with my stupidity and misery.

  I will be content to sit here a little longer in the solitude of the study.

  It is quiet here. Maybe I should take some time to think about my actions.

  I need to get my life together.

  Soft footsteps grow closer, and I hear the sound of the office doors sliding open. There is a little gasp, and my sister rushes to my side. I lift my head to see the expression of fear on her face as she crouches near me.

  “Carm?” Helen whispers, reaching out to brush my hair back from where it is plastered to my face with tears. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

  I stare at her for a moment, so happy that she’s here at all. A distant memory strikes me. “We were standing right here,” I tell her softly. “The day of my wedding. You told me not to marry Grayson, and I didn’t listen to you. Do you remember that? I should have listened to you.”

  Helen looks around uncomfortably. “I don’t remember, but… I have this feeling. Cold metal.” She reaches up to touch her chest in confusion, as if she can feel it there now. “Cold metal pressed against me. A gun? Someone had a gun. He said that he was going to shoot you.”

  Sighing, I nod in recognition. “He didn’t mean it,” I murmur.

  “I have a bad feeling about this house,” Helen says with a shiver. “Since I stepped inside, I keep getting flashes of horrible images. Did something awful happen here?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter quietly. “Lots of awful things.”

  “Carmen—there’s blood on you. Oh my god. Did you—did someone…” Helen reaches out to gently lift the bloody hem of my nightgown off my thighs. She has a sharp intake of breath before she covers me up and arranges the robe over my body to keep me warm. She pauses briefly, her intelligent eyes scanning the room quickly for information.

  “You can see again,” I say softly.

  “Yes—a little. But I wish I couldn’t, because I don’t like what I see.” Rising to her feet, Helen moves to the office doors and begins sliding them closed.

  “Is everything okay in there?” my father asks.

  “Absolutely,” Helen tells him. “Why don’t you guys go grab a drink and relax? I’ll join you in a few.”

  “Something’s wrong,” Liam says immediately. “I can tell when you’re lying, Helen.”

  “I just need a few moments alone with my sister. Please, guys?”

  “Carm?” Owen says with concern. “I’ve been texting and Skyping her for hours!” His voice grows louder as he moves toward the office. “What’s going on? Can I see her?”

  Helen glances at me for permission, and I shake my head to indicate the negative. I definitely don’t want Owen to see me like this.

  “Please just give us a few minutes,” Helen says politely but firmly, sliding the office doors shut and locking them. She moves back over to me, stepping around the pieces of broken phone so that she can get to my side. Sitting on the ground beside me, she wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Are you going to tell me what happened here?” she asks me softly.

  “It was Brad.” I reach out to grasp a few tiny electronic pieces of my phone, holding them in the palm of my hand like shattered diamonds. “I almost had proof. I was so close.”

  Helen sighs and hugs me closer. I welcome her embrace and sink into her arms, letting my tears begin to fall. I let my head rest against her collarbone miserably.

  “Why am I such a fucking idiot, Hellie? Why do I fail at everything I do?”

  “Shh,” she says, holding me. “You’re not. You’re just really, really unlucky when it comes to people.”

  “Unlucky,” I repeat in dismay, between sobs that shake my chest. “Fortune favors the bold. He makes his own luck. He must be so fucking lucky, to get away with murder the way he does.”

  “Carmen,” Helen says soothingly. She strokes her hand over my hair as she holds me tightly, with simultaneous strength and softness. Her touch is almost motherly.

  This does give me some comfort, for I imagine that this is the closest I will ever come to being held by my mother again. It comes so natural to my sister, being a strong person that everyone can count on. I have to try so hard to be anything like Mom, anything close to an adult; and then it always fails and blows up in my face. I’m supposed to be the older sister, but it’s never felt that way.

  “You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to,” Helen says quietly, “but I think you should call the police.”

  “I can’t. This isn’t enough to punish Brad for what he’s done. If I call the police, I lose the game. I need to stay close to him.”

  “Then you should see a doctor.”

  “A doctor?” I ask blankly.

/>   “You should get a rape kit done,” Helen says simply.

  I lift my head and pull away from her slightly, looking at her through tearful vision. “A rape kit?” I mull this over in my mind, wondering whether it could actually be worthwhile evidence. Would it be as reliable as my recording? Then I think about how they’d need to collect the evidence from my body. “Oh god, Hellie, I can’t. I can’t deal with all of that right now.”

  “You have to,” she urges me. “You said you wanted proof? I don’t know the whole situation, but I can guess enough. I’m writing a story about a girl who was raped, and I’ve been doing a lot of research on the subject. In my story, the girl is so afraid and upset and embarrassed that she doesn’t do a rape kit, and she ends up regretting it years later when she encounters her rapist again. She has no leverage over him, no proof.”

  “A story?” I ask her in confusion. “That sounds strangely like what happened to you.”

  “What happened to me?” Helen says with a bewildered smile. “No, I’ve never been through something like that. I think I would remember.”

  I stare at her in puzzled surprise. For a moment, it completely distracts me from my own sadness as I wonder how my sister can be writing a story about the exact events that happened to her, and not realize that the events in her story are coming from bottled up memories.

  “Anyway,” she says lightly. “When it comes to things like this, there’s a very time-sensitive window of opportunity when you can take action and collect evidence. I know that after an event like this, the last thing you want to do is subject yourself to more stress and humiliation, or have people poking around at you…”

  “No. I think that’s a good idea,” I tell her quietly. “Can you call Dr. Howard for me? But let’s try to be discreet about this. Don’t tell Dad what happened. His health can’t handle it.”

  “Of course,” Helen says, pulling out her phone. She is flipping through her contacts when the doors to the office are ripped open.

  I jump slightly at the sound, and shift backward so that my body is plastered against a wooden bookcase. I wrap my robe closer around myself in fear of who will step inside, until I see the silhouette of Owen’s features. Exhaling in relief, I cover my face with my hands and begin to cry softly. I really didn’t want him to see me like this, but I feel such a rush of relief in my heart at seeing him that it is overwhelming. I feel like everything’s going to be okay.